Cold is a Bladed Knife
by WhimsicallyAwkward
Summary: He was Shruikan. He was Galbatorix's stolen dragon. He went insane. He was also a little black dragon who never knew his true Rider. This is the story of Shruikan. Told in clips from his days in his egg, to the day Arya slayed him. One-shot.


**Author: WhimsicallyAwkward**

**Title: Cold is a Bladed Knife**

**Rating: Teen - for canon character death, and angsty thoughts**

**Summary: He was Shruikan. He was insane. He was Galbatorix's stolen dragon. He was also a little black dragon who never knew his true Rider. This is the story of Shruikan, told in clips from his egg, to the day Arya slayed him.**

**Beta: Eh, that's a no. So please ignore any minor mistakes, but inform me of any glaring errors. **

**Disclaimer: No, no. Alagaesia isn't mine. Shruikan isn't mine. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N: My first story/one-shot in the Inheritance Cycle world. Hope you enjoy. **

* * *

_**For Shruikan. Who never knew the true bond of a dragon and rider. **_

_"Colder by the hour. More dead with every breath." ~ John Green_

_"Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you, and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it." ~ George R.R. Martin_

He's been in the shell for too long. He's ready to get out. To spread his wings, to fly.

Instincts keep him in. Thoughts - but not thoughts - tell him that it's not time.

He knows little. What he does know was engrained from the moment his existence began.

He is a dragon. He must wait in this shell until the right person comes along. Until his _rider_ comes along. He will know when it is his Rider. Instincts tell him this.

There is someone there. Someone is holding his shell.

He feels them. Feels their emotions. Their thoughts. Their _self_.

Strong, a little bitter towards life. Brave to the point of stupidity. Arrogant.

Not for him.

He remains still.

* * *

He wants out. The passage of time is carrying on around him, and he wants out. He wants to be with his kind. He's tired of this isolation. He wants to know life outside of this shell. Or egg.

He's being held again. _Again. _Like always, he feels the one who is holding them. His mind reaches out, testing, and he rejects the other mind. Rejects it quickly.

This is one of the bad ones.

The person is cold. Angry, dark. A mind warped by loss, and a deep set fury.

He shrinks into himself.

No. No. This is definitely not for him.

Very few times does he feel someone so _wrong_ for him. This is probably the worst he has experienced.

He wants out. But not now. Definitely not now. So he resigns himself to stay, comforted by the thought that the one for him is out there somewhere.

* * *

There! That's it!

Warm. Strong. Smart, but a little naïve.

Oldest sibling of five. Grew up in Tierm.

Positive, happy. Eager to be the partner to the dragon in the egg.

That's the right combination. That's who the little black dragon has been waiting for.

He stretches, and loves. Loves his Rider before he even knows what love is.

Now it's time to get out.

All of the waiting was for this. This perfect partner.

Now he really wants out. But it's bearable, because now he knows that he _will_ get out. And soon. Very soon.

* * *

Oh! It's almost time. He knows this. He can feel it.

He can move now. He can wiggle more and more every day.

He feels parts of him that he hasn't felt before. Claws, teeth, a tail.

He is with his Rider. He has been since the first time he felt him.

Every now and then, he is surrounded by the thoughts and feelings of his Rider again. When this happens, he stretches happily.

He doesn't know what laughing is, but he knows that his Rider laughs when he squeaks. He knows that his Rider is happy when he laughs, so he squeaks a lot now.

He can hear his Rider talking to him sometimes.

_Hello, little dragon. We'll be together soon, won't we? I can't wait to see you. You're going to be strong, and mighty, and a beautiful black._

He never squeaks when his Rider is talking. He wants to hear every word.

_Only a few days now._

Only a few days. He flexes his wings, extends his claws. Only a few days

* * *

It's time. Time to finally break free. Time to finally be with his rider.

He struggles, and fights, and he tires. His egg is strong. Designed to protect him at all costs, and he's expelling every bit of effort he has to get out.

His Rider is there. All around him, giving his strength.

_You've got it. Almost out. You're strong enough for this._

He _is_ strong enough, and with his Rider's encouragement, he continues fighting.

He wants out. So he can see his wings, feel the air, and be with his Rider.

He _wants out_.

There. He can see light. He blinks slowly, gets the film off of his eyes.

He see's space. So much space.

He squeaks. Then he gives a sudden explosion of movement, and he's free.

Finally.

The parts of his shell are all around him, and he's covered in a substance from the egg.

He licks at it, feels the scrape of his tongue against his scales.

Then, there's that voice. The voice of his Rider.

_Hello, little dragon._

He looks up. Blinks at his Rider.

_Hello. We're at my house. We're going to stay here until you get a bit bigger. How does that sound?_

He squeaks again. This is his destiny. This is where he's supposed to be now. With his Rider.

For the first time, he _sees_ the laugh that he's heard several times in his egg.

Yes. He has his whole life ahead of him. He is content. For a moment, and only a moment. Then everything changes.

His Rider's happiness is gone, and there is something _loud. _Too loud for his new ears. He squawks, ducks his head down.

He hears his Rider; it's not words, though. It's something raw, and it sounds more like him than his Rider. It's loud too, and he senses the fear in it.

Fear. What is fear?

It's not good. That much is for sure.

There is harsh movement, and he ducks back until he can't anymore.

His vision is blurry, but he tries to see.

There is his Rider, the one who is special to him, and there is someone else. They're moving quickly, and he hears his Rider say something loudly.

He's too far away though, and he can't tell what he said.

Something is wrong. Terribly wrong. He knows this much.

He sees the broken fragments of his egg, and suddenly he wants to be back in there. Back where it's safe. He's spent so long wanting to be out. Maybe this is his punishment for not accepting his isolation. Not accepting that he had to wait patiently.

He doesn't know. He just wants to be warm again. Wants to see his Rider, and he can't.

The other being is in his way.

He crawls forward, totters clumsily, and then he hears his Rider again. Clearly this time.

_No! Get away little dragon! Go!_

He has no idea what this means, but the fear in his Rider's voice freezes him in his tracks.

Oh, he's cold. So cold.

He sees his Rider now. He's not as big as usual, much closer to the ground. And there is something flowing from him.

It is crawling across the floor, and he backs away from it because something in him doesn't want to touch it.

It's wrong. It's the spilling of life.

The other person is still there, and he's coming closer. Coming towards the small, black dragon crouched on the floor. He doesn't want him anywhere near him.

He backs up as far as he can, instincts screaming at him to get away from this person-who-wasn't-his-rider.

The person is even closer now, and there is no where left for him to go.

His Rider isn't moving, and he can't sense him anymore. He's shaking, a mangled cry slipping past pointy teeth.

He's so afraid. He isn't even supposed to know what fear it, but he does now.

This isn't right. This isn't his destiny. Is it? It can't be.

The not-rider is right in front of him now. He is trying to touch him.

_No! _No! That is for his Rider!

His Rider is supposed to touch him first. Not this strange creature.

He ducks down, tries to run around the not-rider on wobbly legs.

He's a baby, but he's quick, and he's almost past him. He runs for his Rider, desperate just to _feel_ him. He doesn't know why he is supposed to touch his Rider first, but he knows that he _can't_ let this not-rider touch him. He can't.

Almost there. _Almost_ there.

And then there is fire in his veins, pressure on his back, air under his feet. _No!_

No, no, no! This was wrong. So wrong.

He's on fire, and there are a thousand invisible strings attaching him to someone who wasn't his Rider. Someone who had _hurt _his Rider.

Not natural. There are thousands of dragon ancestors screaming in his ears. Not natural.

He feels the bond that is between him, and his Rider wrap around him, but not around his Rider. It wraps around him and this _thing_. For it is a thing. It is cold, and dark. A twisted mind, an angry soul.

He is scared, so scared. And he thinks he's felt this warped mind before.

More stings, more attachment, but nothing makes him forget his Rider. His Rider, who is laid out on the floor, hurt by this _thing_.

He cries again, louder. A dragon is a beautiful creature. A mighty one, and it's cry is piercing.

It's over. Finally. The fire stops, but he is still shaking. Not natural. Wrong.

The thing is still holding him, and he lashes out, tastes blood on his teeth before he is dropped.

Pain shoots up his leg when he lands, and his heart squeezes. He hurt him. He hurt the thing, and the bond screams because of it. The thing hurt him, and the bond protests just as loudly.

He is not to hurt his Rider. His Rider is not to hurt him.

The black dragon rises, his body trembling, and he stumbles over to the body of his true Rider.

He can't feel much for the broken body. The bond doesn't let him. But he knows that this is the one who he is supposed to be with. Who he is supposed to be bonded to.

All he wants is to feel him; just once.

It's all he wants. Then he will surrender to the one who stole his bond. He has no choice. Even now, he knows that the not-rider-turned-rider is coming closer.

Just let him feel his true Rider, once. Please. He surges forward, almost there, before he is snatched up. Into the arms of the one who makes his soul scream to get away, but his bond holds him there.

_I am your Rider now, dragon. You will embrace me. You will forget all about this._

His eyes stay on the natural-rider for as long as possible, before he can't be seen anymore.

He is cold, and he feels that he will always be cold.

His Rider is wrong. He will always remember the broken body on the floor. He will always remember the first and last time he saw him laugh.

* * *

It's dark where he stays. As dark as the days in his egg that he can barely remember.

It seems like ages since he'd become cold. Time pulsing torturously. He becomes more and more removed from the emotions of that first day. It's because of the bond, which seals more and more with time. But nothing will take away the knowledge that the human - Galbatorix - is not his rider. Not really.

Nothing will take away the fuzzy picture of the one who'd talked to him when he'd been in an egg. The one who he never got to touch.

Galbatorix is there now. Whispering to him. A jumble of names, and nothing more. That's all he's said to the dragon since those first three sentences the day he acquired the black dragon.

_You will react to one of these names, and I will know that it is yours._

He doesn't want to react. Doesn't want to give his Rider anything, because he's _not his Rider_.

He hasn't had to worry about showing anything so far, as nothing he has said has made him feel anything but cold. The cold is perpertual.

He finds that the only time he remembers being warm is when he conquers up the fuzzy memories of his egg, and the one who became a broken body on the floor.

_Shruikan. _

Oh. He can't help it. He shudders a bit, blinks his eyes. When that word passed through the twisted one's lips, he felt warm.

Warmth all the way to his bones, and then it was gone.

His Rider's voice is in his head now. He's never done that before.

_Shruikan, so that's your name. Hello, Shruikan. It's time to leave this room. _

Shruikan shudders again at the violation of his mind, and slams up the strongest walls he can.

They leave, but the new places are just as cold as the room he spent the first few weeks in. Or maybe it's just him.

* * *

Galbatorix is his Rider. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be, but he is. And Shruikan protects his Rider. Shares magic with his Rider.

It's been years since he was a hatchling, and the memories are fuzzier than ever. The memory of warmth, and the memory of the life he was supposed to have are what remain.

As does the picture of Galbatorix standing over the body of the one who was supposed to be his bond mate. He wants to feel angry over this, tries to make himself kill his Rider when he thinks of it. He can't though. He can't summon the hatred.

Because he can't hate his Rider. He tries to hate him and can't. He tries to kill him, and he can't. He tries to leave him, and he can't.

Maybe it's this that drives him to insanity.

Or maybe it's the fact that he never even got to touch the one who tried to protect him with his last words.

_No! Go away little dragon! Go!_

Those words come to him randomly. He has no control over it. Every time they come through he is given a flash of a fuzzy face. Every time he mourns the life he was supposed to have had.

* * *

He spends his life cold. He spends his life falsely loving Galbatorix, and in a deep anger that would never go away.

He was momentarily warm on the first day of his life. A fleeting happiness. Blinking into open space, seeing the laugh of a person who he can't even remember anymore. He only remembers warmth.

The next time he was warm was when he learned his name. He can't remember the emotions he may have had, but he remembers the absence from cold. That was a long time ago, and he hasn't been warm since.

He is momentarily warm on the lat day of his life.

Creatures are everywhere, and he wants to destroy them all. But Galbatorix says no. So he stays back, and swims in the always present anger.

Everything is still to him, moving in slow-motion. He vaguely hears garbled words from creatures-like-his-rider, and a growl from the one who's name is Thorn. Then it's motion. Red and Blue creatures who he isn't supposed to kill. _Only maim_, rings in his head.

They are faster than him, but he knows that he will crush them. He knows the dark satisfaction he will feel.

Something is wrong with his Rider, and he roars in frustration. Then the blue creature is there, in front of his eyes, and he recognizes it. Wings, glittering scales, long neck. He can't place a name to what it is, and decides it's not important enough. It's a creature. A pest.

The harsh movement reminds him of something. Something that is supposed to make him feel something_(anything)_, but it doesn't. He is numb. Has been for a long time.

He's not sure how it happened, but he is pinned beneath the weight of the red, and blue creature. He feels pain that he hasn't felt in a while. A _long_ time. It's refreshing, because he's feeling something.

He's almost free. He's to big for them to handle, and he's almost free, but he feels a wrongness.

It's coming closer, and he sees the wrong in the hands of a two-legged-creature. He sees it's dark glow.

Then he can't see anything. And it _hurts_.

* * *

He's a hatchling again. Blinking film out of his eyes, and looking into the face of the laughing one.

His rider. His true rider. The one he'd forgotten.

It goes differently this time. There is no loud noise, no harsh movement.

His Rider comes closer, and he hears him speak for the first time in over a hundred years.

_Hello, little dragon. Everything is going to be okay._

Then his Rider's palm touches the scales on his nose, and the natural bond - so much greater than the joke of a bond between him and his not-rider - settles over him.

This was how it was supposed to happen. This was always how it was supposed to be. Ancient dragons whisper softly to his old, deranged, and dying mind.

_We are sorry for your pain, young one. Rest now._

Shruikan has lived for over a hundred years, but when he dies, he is a hatchling in the arms of his true Rider. And he is warm.

_fin_

* * *

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